


Relapse

by Kinomiya



Category: Bakuten Shoot Beyblade, Beyblade
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26014186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinomiya/pseuds/Kinomiya
Summary: relapse.re·lapse | \ ri-ˈlaps  , ˈrē-ˌlaps  \1. to fall or slide back into a former state, to slip back into bad ways; backslide, to regress.
Kudos: 5





	Relapse

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted: 5/22/2012, formatting may be iffy.

**First person, Takao.**

* * *

It was inconceivable to most, that I'd fall into such a cliche downward spiral even when everyone had tried so hard to help me, to fix me. First it had been my friends who had intervened, acknowledging the problem one chilly evening, sitting me down on the back porch of my family home seriously, nervously. They needed to talk, because this needed to stop. I had agreed. Then it had been my family to intervene, I'd come home from college that spring for the week and my brother had been particularly tense upon getting me at the airport, gripping onto the steering wheel of the car as if it were a life line as we drove to that very same family home. I'd been met with the serious faces of not only my grandfather but to my surprise my father, suddenly interested in my life. They too, needed to talk, because this needed to stop. I once again agreed.

Then it had been the judicial system, interfering in my life and punishing me when I had already so thoroughly punished myself. Sixty days they said, they required. This was my only chance to save myself from a future I surely didn't want. They mandated my treatment, because this needed to stop. I had agreed.

But every single time, no matter how much I cared for the people pleading with me, no matter if it was a judge mandating it. No matter if I always seemed to come out on the other side with that clarity I had long since sacrificed, every single time it happened.

The big R word.

 _Relapse_.

And with every setback another person who had cared so much about my well being, every person with their good intentions would turn their back on me. Sever the ties and let me sink further into this seemingly unbeatable paradox. How funny that even though all the specialists had warned them this process wasn't an overnight thing, no matter how much they were told beating this took both support and time they couldn't do it, they couldn't be the functioning support system I needed.

The day my grandfather gave up on me was easier conquered by medicating than talking about it. One hit was all it took to leave a state of disaster and reach a plain of euphoria. One hit which equated to mere seconds versus hours, days, months, years of therapy, rehabilitation and treatment. The easy way out wins again.

How had the inconceivable happened? How had someone so strong been reduced to a this?

College.

Pop one Oxy at a party and you're flying high, but eventually one Oxy isn't enough anymore, eventually you need two, three, four. Then the line between recreational and necessity starts to blur. You hate the crash after the party, the rut you fall into after the euphoria and the fix is easy, just take another. Now you're tolerance is off the charts, and popping entire prescriptions a day is both unconventional and pricy so you move up. Move up to something stronger, something faster, something better.

This new drug is better, you get higher faster, and it's stronger. Getting over my fear of needles was a challenge well worth it at the time, and that first hit had me hooked. I didn't have to live with the stress of college, with any of the trauma and pains of my past, the neglect of my father and brother, the hurt of my friends betrayal that still weighed on my mind. Just one hit took it all away.

I didn't realize when I'd started that one hit really would take them all away.

Well at least almost all of them.

I don't know why he stuck around still, why he checked up on me. Hell I didn't know why he sometimes caved and gave me money when he knew what it was going towards but he did. He stuck around when I was using, he stuck around when I was trying to get out of it, he was still there when I relapsed. He'd hold my hair back out of my face when I became physically ill because the drugs were leaving my body. He'd take me to bed when I was too intoxicated to move from where I sat. I knew my old friends whispered in his ears to cut me loose, I wasn't going to get better, I was going to die this way. He shrugged them off always. Offered me a place to stay, food to eat. Surely the only thing keeping me alive right now.

A long time ago the euphoria from my drug of choice had faded away, I didn't take it anymore to feel good, no. I took it not because if I didn't I'd get sick, because my body would physically ache, shake, and fight against me without it.

They call it a chemical addiction.

I recall one early morning waking up in a haze, no memory of the night before, no surprise I stumbled around my room looking for something, looking for it. I ended up tearing apart pieces of the apartment looking, searching, longing and still I came up empty handed. Frustration came next as I let myself drop onto the couch and brought my knees to my chest, I could feel my body shaking. I could feel it starting to ache. Today was going to be a bad day, likely one of the worst I'd had in a long time.

It had been his voice uttering my name with a hint of concern that had pulled me out of my internal chaos. I had looked up at him, probably resembling a train wreck physically. It was amazing to me that it still took him off guard to see me in such a state. After a few minutes he moved to sit beside my quietly, we said nothing for what I'm certain was a very long time, but perhaps it was only truly minutes. My internal monologue was screaming at me over everything and nothing all at once. I didn't know what to do, I felt like I was becoming more and more trapped in that perpetual labyrinth with every single second that ticked by.

"Why?" I remember saying it abruptly, at least I think it was abruptly. Kai had shifted on the sofa and looked over towards me with obvious confusion, I retracted back into myself when I felt his gaze. I was almost certain that was what guilt had felt like.

Tick, Tick, Tick the time went by, some part of my subconscious seemed to think it was a great idea to count the seconds passing, probably the part of it that hated what I'd been reduced too, the part that wanted to punish me for my stupidity.

Seconds, Minutes, Hours, Days, Weeks, Routine, _Relapse_.

"Why?" I spoke it again and my voice cracked, I remember it cracking. I was about to cry. This time he was sitting on one of the chairs tapping away at his laptop when he looked up at me, some piece of that same self destructive subconscious decided I had nothing to lose by pushing forward this time.

"Why are you still here?" I dug my nails into my arm but I don't remember it hurting even though the scars suggest it was probably painful.

And he said nothing.

Nothing at all.

And I wanted to scream at him to say something because the silence was louder than any snide remark he could produce, louder than any horrible thing he could say or blame me for. But still he said nothing, just stared at me with his crimson coloured eyes.

"Because if nothing else, I owe you that, Kinomiya." He said with a sigh as he closed the laptop with soft click and set it aside. I didn't understand what he meant. We fell into silence.

Rinse, Repeat, _Relapse_.

It had been fifteen months, at least I think it had been fifteen months since those words had been uttered to me. I don't even remember where those months went, another gaping hole in my memory. Still he was there, whether I was on or off the wagon. No matter my mood, mindset, situation, no matter. He was there. He still held my hair back when I was sick, he still made sure I made it to bed to sleep, that I ate, that I was alive. I was currently leaning against the wall my cheek pressed to it savouring the few seconds of coolness against my skin when he silently handed me a toothbrush to rinse away the taste of vomit. I accepted it and went about the same routine that had been happening for several years now. The same routine until I decided on a whim to change it up.

"What did you mean by it?" I asked him after I spit the toothpaste out of my mouth, I looked up at the mirror seeing his reflection, he stared back, looking almost entirely impassive. I turned to face him and he moved to stop me so I didn't fall, we stayed there for a while him holding me so I didn't hurt myself before cleared his throat and spoke

"Because you saved me countless times, Kinomiya. If nothing else, I owe you this one."

It's black after that, another relapse.

It was seven months later that I remember waking up in the hospital, staring up at the white ceiling, blinded by everything. I could hear machines around me but underneath all that I could hear the insufferable tapping at keys that I vaguely remembered from some time before.

"Kai?" I spoke, my voice was hoarse, I probably hadn't had anything to drink in quite some time, I moved my head to look over at him he looked up at me for a moment and then away, same old same old.

I'd been determined when I was released to get back on track, but I'd been determined countless times before and I was doing okay, I'd spent almost ninety days clean now. Longer than I'd ever been before, I was back in therapy again. I thought it was different this time.

Until they showed up.

I vaguely remembered them, sort of. They were the kind of people you looked back through your high school yearbook and pointed at them and said you remembered some random obscure and unimportant memory about them. Shadows of your past, people you hardly knew but still remained cordial with because it was polite. However they seemed to know me, and the politeness wasn't shared. I'd heard them talking that night to him. Hushed and hostile whispers about me.

"Ninety days isn't that much, he wont make it."

"He'll fall off the wagon again, he's been falling off for how many years now?"

"This is going to kill him."

"Why do you insist on keeping him around all he is is a burden to you."

"He's hopeless."

"Why are you doing this to yourself Kai."

"As your friends we think this needs to stop."

...

As his friends.

**Not mine.**

I sat in my room staring at a needle haphazardly left behind, previously hidden away in a place where it would be forgotten or overlooked should the house be cleaned of drugs, a needle that's contents would take me away from all this. Liquid euphoria, an unbeatable paradox, a perpetual labyrinth, the easy way out. One hit was all it took, one hit would take it all away. One hit would take them away.

"Takao." I had heard him utter from the door as I stared at the single needle waging some internal war with myself my connection with the substance was broken and my eyes looked over to him, for the first time in a long time there wasn't a fog that shadowed my vision but a pristine clarity as I watched him move to sit beside me before quietly speaking again.

"You have always been, one of the strongest people I know, Kinomiya." Confusion, that's what confusion felt like, I looked over at him eyebrow raised, the needle only slightly forgotten.

"If anyone, can bounce back from seven years of severe addiction and substance abuse, it would be you." He added as we sat there in the dead of the night under dim light.

My mind lingered on one part of that statement.

Had it really been seven years?

He moved to stand up and I heard him speak again: "I just thought you should know that." In a sudden lightning reflex I didn't know I had I moved to grab onto his forearm, he looked down at me, I felt a sensation run through my spine, perhaps with my new found clarity seeing what had been there all along, amongst the shadows of memories fleeting through my head of the past seven years, amongst the fragments of the memories of my long lost childhood, my long lost innocence, my long lost friendships. Perhaps the only reason he'd stayed so long when everyone else had eventually left me to drown and all I could say was:

"Get rid of this."

Eighty-four months addicted, Fourteen months clean.

I'm getting there.

* * *


End file.
